


45: The Brothers Rapture

by TheLastFounder



Series: Master of Nothing [3]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Andrew Ryan Has a Heart, Brothers, F/M, Frank Fontaine Does Not, Gen, Genetic Engineering, Master of Death Harry Potter, Plasmids, Progression of Events, Rapture (BioShock), Reincarnated Harry Potter, War, What-If, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastFounder/pseuds/TheLastFounder
Summary: Harry Potter had lived and died a thousand times.He would live and die a thousand more.He would never rest.He had played so many roles over all of his lives.He had created and destroyed a thousand worlds.In his latest, he was to be a brother.He wouldn't have to create or destroy any worlds, only help build a city.How easy that must seem, but one doesn't factor in common sense when building a city under the sea, now do they?





	1. A Brother of Mine Once Said

**The Master of Death.**

What a novel concept, for a mortal creature to have absolute dominion over the actual embodiment of Death.

That Death itself could be confined and controlled by a being who held artifacts supposedly crafted by Death itself. 

Why would Death create the instruments of it's enslavement? One could ask that, but why bother when no answer would come?

However, rational thought didn't factor into the story, as that isn't what the legend speaks of.

Primarily, the journals and scrolls written by mad fools and storytellers, tell of how one could transcend and become immortal.

Collect three trinkets, and Death would be leashed to your fingertips, your wish was their command.

You would be able to play the role of judge, jury, and executioner of all creation, form existence with a wave, or dictate the fates of billions.

Unlimited power and all that it entails, with near unstoppable might to carry with it.

It was not so, obviously, as I've died many a time.

I sadly don't have unlimited power either, as I end most days exhausted, barely able to cast a simple light spell, let alone destroy anything.

But, that is what people believed would happen if one collected the Hallows.

Nothing is as it’s written, however.

Wiser men than I had fallen prey to such trickery of course, but none were more the fool than I was.

Everything was a lie, from the beginning of my fool's life, to the very end.

Of course, my mockery of a life would close with a mockery of a legend.

Every line, every tale told by old men over fires, or written in timed journals hidden away in dusty alcoves. 

**All lies**

* * *

 

**I collected the Deathly Hallows,** of course, but by accident, I swear.

The cloak bundled in the Christmas present box, that fool's anonymous letter with it.

The stone in that damn ring that killed said fool, a man that honestly deserved a more… fitting punishment.

And finally, that damn wand that I held for less than ten minutes.

I put them all out of my mind then, locked away on the day of the final battle, sealed up with my first death and the demise of so many I cared for.

Imagine my surprise of course, that upon my deathbed, I learned of my curse. 

**That I would have a thousand final battles.**

* * *

**Contrary to the belief of many,** I wasn’t to be resurrected.

Upon death, I don’t get a “second chance.”

I died as Harry Potter, and that was it, no Horcruxes to cash in, no extra lives.

Harry Potter was no more,  but I, the being that once was him, still exist.

All of who he was rests with me, forever, no matter the body or form, I always come back.

I live and die, but I will always exist, in one form or another.

I am now a form of existence, always there and endless.

My curse wasn’t immortality,  **it was rebirth.**

* * *

******I lived many lives,** in many times, and many worlds.

I have been born and died in every era, I’ve raised civilizations and razed them. 

I’ve been both leader and destroyer, I’ve been father and son, I’ve been hero and villain, and I’ve been the monster and slayer.

I’ve lived many lives, some strange, and some exciting, but my latest… 

Seems like I live in trends.

There’s always a man, there’s always lies, and well… I guess there’s always me.

However, this one seems interesting.

**I have a brother.**

* * *

******In this world,** I was born Henre Rianofski, to a lonely couple in 1908.

Oddly enough, because it rarely happens, I’m Russian this time around. That was interesting.

Born into poverty, or near to it, my family managed with their small business. 

My new father, Pyotr was a very… timid man. Working at his little carpentry shop on the edge of the village, making chairs and furniture that pleased the nobles that lived beyond our village.

Of course, with the revolution on the rise, my father died very quickly and fiercely, as he refused to fight on the front-lines, for either side.

They executed him in a dirt field while we watched, his head thrown to our feet as the men laughed at our horror. 

They burned his shop to the ground that night, destroying any hope our poor mother would have in this world, let alone our home.

My father's death was tragic yes, and it still sears my blood and makes my rage sing in my ears, but my father wasn’t very important in this world. I’ve accepted that with time.

My little brother, however, was important.

His name was Andre.

**He liked to be called Andrew.**

* * *

******When Andrew turned eight,** our mother turned to me, a boy of only eleven, and tasked me with getting the both of us to safety.

To escape to freedom, and safety.

To leave her there.

I never had much affection for any of my parents past my original ones, but something about my latest set... endeared themselves to me.

One of the hardest things I've ever had to do, was take my brother by the hand and leave our mother there. 

I received word years later that she was executed, much like our father.

I never told Andrew.

**I probably should have, but I never did.**

 

 **We were children, lost in a war-torn** Russia, looking for escape by any means.

Luckily, we weren't the only ones leaving. 

There was a stream of people, families, literally anyone possible, running from Russia, heading anywhere but here.

If I had been a normal boy, it probably would have taken us longer to leave the country… but I am still the Master of Death.

The only magic I did in this world so far, was stun my brother, and Confundo ourselves onto a ship headed to America, surrounded by hordes of others escaping the country, just as we were.

We avoided the war, but Andrew always questioned our voyage. 

I gave plenty of excuses, even made fake tickets that I claimed to have bought.

The look of disbelief in his eyes, when he was just eight, was one I’d remember forever.

It was the same look that  **he gave me the last time I’d ever see him.**

* * *

******Andrew loved America from the first time he saw it.**

The sights, the sounds, even the skyline drew his awe and love. 

I had never seen him happier, and for a long while, I was truly happy for him.

The way he looked to the towers of New York, to the way his eyes lit up at the sound of a trolley roaring down the street, to even the blush on his cheeks as a girl his age was pushed past by her family.

Andrew had found something in America that I don't think he ever expected to find.

And I, Henry, Harry, rediscovered something I thought long lost.

I had lost feeling, any kind of emotion, long ago, somewhere in between my twelfth life and Ancient Egypt, but in that moment… 

**I was happy, so, so, so very happy.**

* * *

 

**We went to school,** and we prospered.

I was always clever, even back at Hogwarts, but with several lifetimes of knowledge and experience, I became a genius.

Andrew wasn’t a genius, but he was something much better than me.

Andrew was a thinker, and he had dreams and desires like anyone else, but his were so much... grander.

I loved listening to his dreams, and promised to fulfill every last one.

He wanted to be an Engineer, I told him he’d be the best.

He wanted to build fantastical machines, I told him they'd be incredible. 

He wanted to help people. I told him he'd save the world.

And for years, the two of us, Andrew and Henry Ryan, swept through America, learning all we could.

We were happy, mostly, but the way our professors always spoke down to Andrew started to get to him. I knew it did.

My brother had an anger to him, a darkness that I knew, when he near attacked a professor for saying that his dreams were impossible.

**My brother called him a parasite.**

* * *

******The second world war snuck up on us.**

While the signs were everywhere, we fought to be ignorant, we strived to be happy.

We had run from a war within the country of our birth, and neither of us wanted to even think about the danger to our new home.

Of course, I knew World War II was coming, but I wasn’t paying attention.

I wasn’t, until a group of armed soldiers showed up at our home, and forced me out the door.

The draft had come for me, I was to prove my devotion to our new home, I was to prove my worth.

My brother, wasn’t. 

It broke my heart to do so, but I left my brother there in New York, and went to war, so that my brother wouldn’t have to.

Ironic, because he would have to, in another war.

Thankfully, we’d be together then.

**As we should have been.**

* * *

******The war was long and rough.**

The time spent in the Forest of Dean was a class field trip compared to trying to survive within the trenches, fighting across Europe, spilling blood, both mine and that of my enemies.

At times, I wondered why I was even fighting, but I always remembered at the end of the day.

Andrew's combed hair, and his dorky little glasses. 

I'd smile down at the photo I kept, and I'd move on to the next day.

I knew my fellow soldiers all fought for someone.

It was there I learned, that a man fighting for someone is to be trusted.

That's why our enemy scared me so.

The man that has no reason to live, **is the enemy to be feared.**

* * *

**Very rarely did I use magic at all during the war,** as I barely got the chance to.

When you’re on a battlefield, mortars raining from the skies, and bullets flying in all directions, “Expelliarmus” isn’t going to do much.

Honestly, I doubt I would have survived long enough to even say it, let alone wave a wand.

I chuckle, when I think about what my old teammates would have thought, if I had just one day revealed that Magic existed. 

Just broke the Statute over breakfast.

I imagine most would have believed me on the spot.

War does funny things to a soldier.

What we worry about so much... seems so little when your life is on the line every single second, of every single day.

That's how I got over my grief, and how I moved on.

Harry Potter died, but Henry Ryan could live. 

And my brother sure as hell would.

A carbine got me through that war.

A team got me through the bloodshed.

**My brother got me home.**

* * *

******I was on a plane over the Atlantic Ocean.**

It was 1945, the war was over.

My brother sent me a letter, bound in an ornate gold and brown envelope.

He wants me to come home, not to Russia, but to the small apartment we shared in New York.

There's a photo, there's now a luxurious tower there. 

It has our last name on the sign.

My brother's done well for himself.

He’s got a new idea he says, he wants my help, just like the old days.

He included a hand drawn design, it’s on a piece of line paper. It’s clean and pressed, like all of his usual work, but his writing seems… hurried.

My brother wants to build a city unlike any other.

**He calls it Rapture.**


	2. That Great Things

**Despite the misgivings I once had about warfare,** over my many lives, I had become an expert in it.

Having been conqueror, defender, and general many times, I was a natural.

I honestly think I impressed Sergeant Burke, as when he looked at me, a fresh faced man of thirty-three, who managed to outsmart Privates that had trained for decades, I think he saw something more than who I was.

Suffice to say, I didn’t have many friends during basic training, along with the fact that said training was horribly rushed.

They taught me to shoot, how to run, what color our uniforms were, and what color our enemies were.

Wonderful training and slurs aside, I was as prepared as I possibly could have been, considering I’ve fought World War II ten times, all from different sides, I believed myself ready.

Next thing I know, I’m heading to England. 

**I wasn’t ready.**

* * *

******London, England**

**(October 12th, 1942)**

* * *

******Once upon a life,** I had looked upon London in wonder and awe.

In that lifetime, I hadn’t ever gotten the chance before adolescence to explore the city.

As Harry Potter, I would have wanted nothing more than to run along it’s streets, meeting it’s people, seeing all that the city had to offer.

Of course, over my many lives I’ve seen more of London than I’d like, but this time… I didn’t want to be anywhere near the city.

But I had to.

Despite the fact that I was sure my troop had never existed in my world,

The Titan Battalion wasn’t a thing, I had been a part of World War II before, but had never come across such a group.

Perhaps this world was different.

A different world.

**Neat.**

* * *

******London was on fire.**

German planes rained hellfire upon the city that once held so much for me, bringing death down on the heads of innocents more than any Death Eater could have ever dreamed, staining the streets with napalm and ash. 

Sirens burned themselves into my eardrums, as my fellows and I ran along the city, looking for any stragglers that hadn’t found their way into a shelter.

We had to do this nightly, in between firing aimlessly into the sky in the vain hope of shooting down a German fighter, never coming close. 

The planes would return, they’d punish the city with even more bombs, and the people would pay for the iron will of their leaders.

I once had the ability to blast things apart with the flick of a wand and a shout of Latin.

I had no wand in these dark times, and only a rifle and insomnia to guide me through these times. 

Of course, my soldiers were there, but they were no better than the civilians in helping me against the Nazi beasts.

I would stand on the rooftops, my nerves on edge, looking through a grimy scope and attempting to shoot down one of those damn planes.

I used to dream of ending the war, of being the gun to fire the last shot. 

It was a good dream, but it was not to be.

I was a man, albeit an immortal (sort of) man, but a man nonetheless.

**I could do no more.**

* * *

******While working in England,** I held my tongue and worked to contain the feelings of who I had once been, but I had one moment where I couldn’t.

We were patrolling the lower end of London, where the tramps and ingrates had once peddled, until the bombs and illness took them of course, when I saw it…

A tall, stricken building, near crumbling, it’s windows grimy and cracked.

A sign at the front, read in faded text so fair that you could barely make out the lettering, “Wool’s Orphanage.”

I near froze, with the bomb sirens blaring in my ears, and my mates trying to get my attention, I came to a realization that I never considered.

Tom Riddle exists.

I... exist.

That… that was something.

I… couldn’t stay here.

Averting my eyes, I muttered my apologies, and continued on with the others.

I would return for him, one day, but not today.

Gods above, I was older than Voldemort… 

Somewhere out there, the lad is learning to shave and just graduating… 

**I swear that I’m cursed.**

* * *

******Normandy**

**(June, 1944)**

* * *

******Eisenhower had said we were to embark** on a great crusade. His words were ironic, because the battle was less grand crusade, and more bamboozled invasion.

The allies had done well and good confusing the dogs, so my troop had come roaring to the rescue of France.

That reminded me then, as I sat in the freighter carrying us all to the battlefield, that some stupid bastard has decided to make me a Major, and give me control of my old Battalion.

Major Ryan.

I don’t know if they were trying to encourage me, or spite me.

General  Montgomery did always have something against me. My accent never did go away fully, and that likely didn’t sit well with him.

Regardless, they stuck a metal star to my uniform, and told me to act like I earned it.

Rotten bastards,  **the lot of them.**

* * *

******Flashbacks to previous lives appeared before my eyes,** as the troops began to ran from our ships, leading the charge down the beaches.

For a second, I could have sworn I was in Rome again, fighting along my ranks,  Caesar guiding my hand, before I was dragged back to my new reality.

Different war, different General, but same result.

We lost men, we took souls, and we won.

The costs weigned nothing to us, as we captured the land that once was stolen, and restored it to those that had earned it.

However, we had no time to rest.

This wasn’t our home, and the war had yet to end.

The German War Machine was still churning it’s way across Europe, and the Japs were still striking.

We had to keep going, so said Eisenhower.

For once, I agreed with the man.

For my brother to sleep easy, I had to keep going.

**For the Greater Good.**

* * *

 

**(1945)**

* * *

******A part of me thought** the war would never end, despite my prior knowledge, I honestly thought that it would never be over.

The bloodshed, the violence, the death… It staggered me more than in any other life.

Perhaps because in this life, I cared… but this was almost too much.

I was almost forty, and I’d been shot in the shoulder.

The Army says I will never be able to properly hold a rifle again.

I call them a bunch of stupid bastards.

They don’t appreciate that, but they respect me, so they let it past. 

They decide that they’re going to send me home, but they say to wait a week.

A week later, an Atomic Bomb has been dropped on Hiroshima.

They said to wait a week, **that becomes a month.**

* * *

******The war is over,** there were celebrations and answered prayers, but the entire time, I worried about my brother.

He had believed that Science existed only to better Humanity, and to help the innocent and those in need.

Science destroyed, and Science killed.

The U.S had betrayed us both.

They had used me as a weapon, and they had weaponized my brother’s passion.

They used me up, and when I was broken, they threw me away.

They sent me home, gave me the choice of a desk job if I wanted it.

I said no.

I retired at just age thirty-seven.

They threw me a ceremony, to award me some pointless medal, and to look over my accomplishments. 

I didn’t attend.

I told them I was going back to New York.

They wished me luck.

I got a letter.

My little brother needed me.

I had let him down once, and it cost me six years.

**I wouldn’t waste six more.**

* * *

******New York City**

**(October 3rd, 1945)**

* * *

******After all the monsters I’ve faced in my lives,** both human and otherworldly, all the challenges I’ve undergone, I had thought myself the bravest (or stupidest) man on any Earth.

However, I was terrified to step off the plane.

We’d landed, I had been given my ragged Army-issue duffle by the nice Stewardess, and I was to leave.

I knew my brother would be waiting for me beyond the plane, and my heart soared to be reunited with little Andre once more, but my brain, feared how he might receive me.

Would he hate me, his older brother, for abandoning him?

Would he hold me responsible for the decisions of my commanding officers?

I didn’t know to be frank, but I had to take a plunge, a… leap of faith, if you would.

Pooling together what remained of my… Gryffindor (I found myself reeling for the word, as I barely remembered that life, so long ago) courage, and took a shot of the liquid variety, before leaving. 

I stepped out, the light of a new day blinding me, before setting sight on what lay before me.

A man stood there on the tarmac, a fine suit fitting his frame, his hair smoothed nicely, just as his fine mustache was.

I could hardly recognize the man, his suit, his face, but there… there was his eyes.

The same light blue that once shined in my little brother’s, but dulled in a sense. 

I imagine my green orbs were similar.

This was my brother, all grown up, and successful.

I could only smile. 

He smiled as well, a thin little gesture, but I knew he meant it. 

 

“Welcome back, brother.”

 

I bet we were a sight, Andrew Ryan in a tailored suit, hugging a scraggly man in filthy clothes.

But no matter what anyone thought or said, we were together once more.

We were the Ryan brothers, and we could do anything together, even the impossible.

Just like I told him so long ago.

I was right, as always.

The world had hurt us both, the possible had ruined what we held dear.

We had only one real choice, of course.

**We chose… the impossible.**


	3. Take Time to Prosper

**My little brother had been busy.**

He had created a company on his own, the "Warden Yarn Company" and that was just mind boggling.

The first time he showed me the bank charters, I near fainted.

It just… wasn't possible, yet he showed me proof.

He refused to tell me what the company did, exactly, but he put emphasis on the simple fact, that it was successful.

I, in a way, knew my brother didn't make all of his money by selling yarn or by some other mundane means, but a part of me didn't want to entertain the thought that my little brother could be a criminal.

The numbers didn't matter, but his words did.

He had made a fortune in less than seven years, and where as one would normally invest, or save such a fortune in hopes of the future…

My brother wasn't the man he had once been.

When I left, he was bitter, but he loved America and it's people. He lived and breathed science and innovation, he talked about it from dawn to dusk, but now…

Now, he held a fire within him that I had never seen before, in anyone. Even Riddle did not burn as he did, yet... the blaze within him did not scare me.

What that meant for me, I had no idea, but I just listened to him. To him rant and rave, of all that had hurt him and I.

It was cathartic,  **for the both of us.**

* * *

**Project Manhattan,**  he would rant, killed the side of him that was innocent and pure, annihilated it like it did Nagasaki and Hiroshima.

Science no longer held a place in his heart, nor his mind, and nothing I said would change that.

However, this idea of his… Where it came from, I have no idea, but… It is something.

An underwater city, populated by only the best and brightest.

It sounded amazing, though I knew there would be difficulties.

One such difficulty, was that it was supposed to be impossible.

Another, was that neither of us really had the experience needed to build a city.

However, we were smart, charismatic, and had as much funding as we could ever need.

We could do this, I was sure of it.

I mean, if Magic can hide a train station inside a pillar, I'm sure it can make a city at the bottom of the ocean.

All I needed… was a wand, but that was a harder task to find than most.

With the war as destructive as it had been, Europe still hadn't recovered from the war, along with it's Magical community.

Even worse, whenever I traveled the U.S, looking for the entrances to the Magical world... I found nothing.

The biggest surprise for me, was when I went to Massachusetts...

Ilvermorny wasn't there.

It was like... something had happened to the Magical World... **and I wasn't there to stop it.**

* * *

**There was so many contacts in my brother's little brown book.**

He called it the Book of Elites, and said that it included everyone that interested him.

He wanted them all for our collective, for the ones that would guide Rapture's light and life, and create the industries of Rapture, from innovation to the arts, we needed them if Rapture was to survive and evolve.

So, the two of us went and met with all of them, as well as the workers we would need. The many... many, workers we'd need.

I found it funny, that my brother actually hired a secretary for the go between us and the workers.

My brother had a limit to his patience, and Ms. McClintock helped when he reached his limit.

My brother and I, focused on the more memorable candidates, while she handled the many and mass.

My brother knew all their faces, their homes and families, and the way forward from here.

I simply followed him, my head tucked,  **as we walked together.**

* * *

**(Early 1946)**

* * *

**"Andrew, must I wear this ridiculous suit?"**  I asked my brother, as the two of us walked along the docks of New York, our target being the CEO of a shipping company, Scarlet Sovereign Import and Export.

Andrew said that they would be the ones that would supply us with the building blocks of Rapture, all the shiny bits and bobbles we'd need to build our wondrous city.

He couldn't wait, almost excited was he, that he didn't even frown as I struggled with the tie he had insisted I wear.

"We are lions Henry, and if we aren't, we are lambs. Have you ever seen a filthy lion? Never. Only lambs frolic in filth." My brother said to me, this dramatic tone to his voice, though I had gotten used to it by this point.

It was funny, on some days, he would be Andre, the silly boy that had created a clockwork rose to impress a girl. (Of course the girl hadn't understood the gesture and had discarded it, but the sentiment had been sweet.)

On other days, he was Andrew Ryan, the influential and inspirational businessman that awed the newspapers and business world.

While I loved when he was Andre, I always had to admire when he was Andrew.

"This man we're meeting then, Lutwidge, is he lion or lamb? Do you trust him?" I asked him, as I followed in his stride.

Andrew strolled past the dockworkers that glared at him in envy and spite, as if they were mere fish flowing past the helm of a glorious ship.

"I don't trust the man as far as you could throw him. I've read his business records. Shady business and risky partners, let alone his debts and 'contracts.'

We'll do business with him, and when we have enough, we'll leave him here with the riff raff." My brother said with a sneer, as he and I pushed our way through the aged doors of the warehouse.

"Oh, and Henry?" Andrew inquired of me, a hand keeping me from going forward. I just looked to him, and cocked a single eyebrow.

"Yes brother?"

**"He is a lamb."**

* * *

**"Who next Andrew?"**

We stood outside of what seemed to be a studio penthouse, but one that had seen much brighter and better days.

The broken windows and the bathtub halfway through the wall said enough there.

"It is about time you met actually, Henry. An old friend of mine, a man I met while you were off on your… service. Sander Cohen, an artistic genius with no comparison, I assure you." Andrew explained as we waded through what appeared to be statues made of junk littered across the man's lawn.

I remembered hearing of Sander Cohen actually, a man in my Battalion had spoke of modeling for the man, and well… being with the man.

The less said the better I suppose.

I nodded with Andrew then, as I did too believe it was time I met the reclusive genius.

Hopefully our meeting would stay at the door.

As we reached said door, we were surprised to find that it was open already, revealing a view of the filthy apartment within.

_Apparently genius doesn't equal stable._

I let out a chuckle, as we stepped into the apartment, immediately being overtaken by the scents of thinned paint and rotten food.

"Genius is right, I can certainly smell his art." I remarked sarcastically, as we walked together through the near desolate home, occasionally taking peaks into the different rooms, only finding filled canvases and remains of failed or scraped projects.

No sign of our dear mister Cohen.

"Genius comes in many forms brother, yours comes in your 'charming' demeanor, Cohen's comes in… his eccentricity. Give him motivation, and I swear the man can paint gold from oil." Andrew insisted stubbornly, as we found ourselves in a large workshop, paint and clay monstrosities covering the floor.

I could have sworn blood splattered the floor along with the paint, but I admit my eyes might have been fooling me.

There, before a large canvas, was a short man collapsed on the ground. He reeked of whiskey, and all sorts of foul stenches.

The man was a paint pallet of vileness.

"He's an artist alright."

"Oh do be quiet Henry, and help him wake up, would you?" Andrew asked me, standing back with an amused look to him.

I was all too happy to assist the 'artist' in sobering up, and perhaps a bit more.

I grabbed the drunkard's shoulder, and literally tossed him across the room, his head coming to crash right through a painting of some random man.

The impact woke him, of that I was sure.

Perhaps I was a bit too… forceful, but we had a long list of candidates to go over and I didn't like the look of the man.

"Who's there?! I assure you that I can and will… Andy? Andy Ryan, is that you dear boy?" The man, Sander Cohen apparently, sputtered in surprise, pulling himself shakily from the frame. My brother didn't look as happy to see him as Sander looked to see him.

"As always, it is Andrew, Sander, but yes… It is I. My brother and I have come with an offer for you, to work for us. You'll have a space of your own, where no one will judge you, or constrain you. No limits, no lines. Just as you always wanted Sander." Andrew trailed on in his spiel, becoming the idealist once more. There was always something in his voice when he turned on the flair, and I swear it was too effective.

Cohen paused then, looking at my brother in surprise, then contemplation. It was almost like he was chewing over the offer, before meeting his eyes with a determined glance.

"You have a brother Andy?"

Yes, like we really needed a madman in our city.

**"Wonderful decision brother."**

* * *

**"We need scientists."**  My brother said to me one night, as we sat together in Ryan Tower.

He, with his fine glass of scotch, and me, with my bland beer.

We often sat there, in the dark, talking of what needed to be done, and what could be done.

"You, are a scientist Andrew." I argued, despite the fact that he had abandoned his studies long ago, I knew a part of my old brother still resided in the man that sat before me. I just had to try to reach him.

"That, was a long time ago Henry. I would ask that you stick with me here." Andrew said with a glare, as if it was almost painful to think of the past. "We need, real, experienced scientists."

"We don't have contacts in that field." I maintained, as I looked over the files of those influential few that we held business with, and those that we knew of.

We knew scientists, but not those of the sort that would meet his standards.

"We, don't have contacts, but I do." Andrew said pointedly, as I swear a light flickered in his eyes then. He was happy.

"You do? Might I ask who?"

"Considering your… history, would you mind too terribly to work with your esteemed enemies?" Andrew asked me, avoiding my eyes as he shifted the ice in his glass. He seemed almost consumed by it, as he watched the ice glow by the light of the fireplace.

"Germans?"

**"Have no worry, only one."**

* * *

**"Doctor Brigid Tenenbaum, welcome home."**

My brother did always have a taste for theatrics.

We had gone to a laboratory that was rented to a B. , which Andrew informed me was her current place of work, for now that is. She had a habit of picking up and running every month.

By just walking through the lab (Which I had to lock-pick our way into), we saw that we had found the right scientist.

Brigid Tenenbaum, former Nazi prisoner, and one of Germany's brightest minds.

She was in New York, and she was desperate for help.

My brother had shown me his surveillance of her, of how she struggled for work, struggled to just survive on her own.

The fact she had a lab was due to my brother's mechanisms, which she was completely unaware of.

She lived in the lab as well, advancing her work in the process, all the while Andrew kept tabs on her.

He needed to know what she was capable of beforehand, of course.

I almost felt sorry for the poor woman, as she jumped a mile high when my brother spoke in the silence.

At his insistence, we had taken seats in her loft, and simply waited for her to return home.

We hadn't counted on her pulling a revolver on us, of course, but I'm proud of my brother for not flinching.

In my case, I was used to threats, and had guns pointed at me daily during the war.

A gun was an arm of power, not a monster.

"Who are you?" She barked out, her stress evident as she flicked the gun back and forth between the two of us. It would have been amusing to watch if I wasn't so damn empathic.

"Relax Doctor, we mean no harm to you. I, am Andrew Ryan. This, is my brother Henry. We have been observing your progress and skills, and have come to you with an offer." Andrew said swiftly, leading our argument to her in a charming, if snide, manner.

Hey, he's still a better speaker than I am.

"You have been watching me, and you expect me not to be concerned?" She asked the obvious question, which told me a lot about her.

This wasn't a woman to fool with, she was bright.

She reminded me of Hermione a little, and that brought a smile to my lips.

"Concern is a healthy part of human interaction. Fear, is what corrupts. My brother and I mean you no harm, we just have a… business offer for you."

She stared at my brother then, a silent battle of wills engaging then, before she nodded slowly and slipping the revolver away in her research bag.

I watched her sit then, looking anywhere but at us, before she took a sudden breath and exhale.

At that, she turned to us then, and I knew we had already won.

**"What, is your offer?"**

* * *

**My brother and I had been busy collecting our colleagues,**  but one, he had handled alone.

He said we needed a researcher, a person that could help us create what no other person could.

We needed a man that could bring my brother's idea into a physical form.

Yi Suchong was our man, but he insisted he go alone.

Perhaps he wanted to spare my temper, seeing as the man supposedly aided the Japanese in the war, or perhaps the man wouldn't trust me.

My actions in the war didn't exactly go unnoticed, my Major pin still sitting in the back of my suitcase, near forgotten.

He proposed that the man might know of me, and assume the worst.

Even if so, I held no ire against the Japanese, hell... I had been a Shogun once. 

Regardless, I stayed in New York, and oversaw the construction of Rapture.

What a sight, hundreds of workers running and rushing, working hand in hand, together, to make our city real.

The last of the buildings were being finished, and in a week's time, we would be transporting them to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

Andrew estimates that it would take three months to make Rapture completely habitable.

With magic on our side, I'm sure it would take half that time, but with no conduit... Magic would have to take a backseat.

This was to be my brother's show.

As the sun rose, and I sat on the deck of Andrew's ship, looking over the freighters that would carry our towers, I smiled.

Andrew's dream, our dream, was coming true right before my eyes.

We were far from done, but for today…

Today, I could sit down, and smile.

If only I knew how few smiles I would have in the future.

I would have smiled more, before a frown became all I could do.

Our future was below the water, but today… I watched the sun rise, golden and gallant, a smile on my face.

**I would come to miss it soon.**


	4. I Told Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably haven't said, no clue if we need to on this site, but I don't own anything.  
> I reference some things, I don't own them either.

**63° 2' N, 32° 55' W**

Between Iceland and Greenland, was the home of the North Atlantic Project, according to official documents of course.

The most anyone knew, was that we were building something below the water.

The port to it would be connected to a Lighthouse that Andrew insisted on, and that was all of the details that we provided to the Government.

Our 'project' was finished, we've issued the call signs, and finalized the transitioning program.

Within the coming month, all of our facility and initial civilians would be selected based on merits, and be invited.

The process was underway, and all we had to do was sit back.

If need be, we would send out documents to private groups advertising.

Now, Rapture would need to do it's job, as would we all.

Ah, look at me, almost sounding like a commie.

I honestly doubt Andrew would care even if I went full Marx, but better keep my sympathies to myself.

**Can't look too red, now can I?**

* * *

**(November 5th, 1946)**

* * *

**There we were,**  in the Atlantic, standing on the steps of a bleak lighthouse.

Rapture waited for us below, but we could not descend to it's depths yet.

The water was filled with ships of all different sorts, carrying the people we'd hand chosen.

The cream of the crop, and some… that were not.

I questioned my brother on the inclusion of those people he used to sneer at, but he logically stated, that one can not fill a city with only twenty-four people.

So, we chose the bright, beautiful, and the brave.

Today, on the open waters, the sun shining down on us, there was a sense of visible excitement in the air.

Most of it from the two of us.

**It was opening day.**

* * *

**"Hello there,**  my name, is Andrew Ryan. This, is my brother Henry. We, are two men that have been used and abused by this world, by it's people, by its governments…

All that we have, and have had, has been taken or threatened by those that decree the laws of the land and others.

My brother and I have endured that our entire lives, in one form or another, lost so very much, and I KNOW you have all felt the same.

I share your… anger. I share your rage, and I share your indignation, so… we've created the solution.

One impossible, yet absolutely vital.

A city, a… world, where you do not have to abide by their binding morals, their lies, and their conniving laws.

You are not defined by their petty sensibilities, nor by their flawed restrictions.

You do not have to fear the products of your mind, nor the fruits of your labor.

You do not have to hide your gifts, nor squalor them.

They are yours, do with them what you will.

Just respect that which unites you all, the Great Chain that holds us all together, that holds… Rapture together.

Only we matter in this regard, for we all are Rapture.

Not I, nor my brother, nor any one of you.

All of us, or none of us.

There are no gods, or kings in Rapture.

**Only man."**

* * *

**The Bathysphere was one of my favorite parts of Rapture.**

The fact that I could get in one, and explore the depths of the ocean in peace was amazing.

I had once had a fetish for flying, for being above the clouds and soaring, but never had I ever experienced the beauty of the ocean, and all that swam gracefully below.

The first time I saw a whale, I was breathless, without words entirely.

Any doubts I had about settling below the waves, was gone from my mind.

Rapture offered a view like no other, and I could hardly wait to step foot within the city.

I had never traveled to it during construction, only watched it from afar.

Andrew said he wanted me to be surprised the first time we went down.

**I was.**

* * *

**"Welcome to Mercury Suites brother."**  Andrew said in a grand manner as he led me through what appeared to be the most splendid apartment to ever exist, wide and expansive, glimmering and noble.

The place looked like a palace.

If a palace was decorated like a high class Olive Garden.

It was nice, despite that.

"Is this a hotel?" I asked him, because I honestly couldn't tell. I did notice there didn't seem to be many rooms, and they did seem spaced out from each other. Secluded, almost.

There were atriums and public places as well, by the seems, and they almost enforced a feeling of community. With it's many staircases and hallways, it almost resembled Hogwarts in the faintest of ways, but of course, the parts of Hogwarts I hated the most.

How wonderful.

Unaware to my mental anguish, Andrew just laughed.

"Do you think I would go to such effort on a hotel? No, brother, this is the home of Rapture's best. You and I have our spaces here, as does Cohen and the good doctor. Mister Suchong… decided on alternate residing, but this is ours. The best and brightest reside elsewhere in Olympus Heights, but the better and brighter, are here. Welcome home brother."

Home, that was an interesting idea.

I hadn't really had a home since Hogwarts…

But Rapture, **it almost feels like I belong here.**

* * *

 **You know,**  when my brother and I talked over making a city of our own, I loved it. However, I never really thought about the fact, that by making a city, we were technically in charge.

Thankfully my brother wasn't a tyrant and also knew that I couldn't really talk to people. In all my lives, I've never been a politician, and there's a damn good reason.

So, in came the Rapture Central Council.

A group of us 'Founders' who would stand together and govern Rapture, despite the fact that we weren't really the government.

Seems a somewhat sound, if odd, idea, but I've seen groups like this before fail miserably.

The Wizengamot was one such group, and they folded under Voldemort like a pack of purple, smug cards.

But, my brother is the chairman, and I'm the Wiseman, which essentially means I keep things civil within the Council, and am I needed…

To avoid a… monarchy, my brother and I decided to bring in people of different mindsets.

Which, meant we had a… lively group.

I traded in Wonderland for a city council under the sea.

**I honestly don't know which is the safer choice.**

* * *

**"I must insist that you let me paint you mister Sullivan, your features are just so… haunted."**  Sander Cohen, the most… interesting member of our council interjected, yet again, as we were discussing the establishment of the Medical Pavilion.

"Mister Ryan, uh, Mister  _Andrew_ Ryan, must we endure this? I'm jus' Head of Security, why do I have to deal with this scuz?" Sullivan Brives, the poor man, asked of us, as Cohen once again targeted him.

We were still getting more people and starlights by the week, and Cohen was getting a bit… antsy being the only artist.

Fort Frolic hadn't been officially opened yet, and the man was insufferable being cooped up in his suite.

"Mister Brives, Mister Cohen represents the Arts of Rapture, his input is… warranted." Andrew stated stiffly, though I knew he was exhausted already.

It wasn't even past morning and he was on his third glass of scotch.

The sooner we could lock Cohen away in his casino, **the better…**

* * *

 

 **"Your brother has an… eye, for people."** Brigid remarked to me one day, the two of sharing a drink together one day after a meeting.

This was becoming a trend now that I thought about it.

Cohen had brought along his new lyricist, and apparently my brother knew her, and now she's on the Council…

We didn't like her.

She didn't like me.

She liked Brigid a bit too much.

Brigid wanted to skin the tramp.

"Culpepper? Yeah… she's a real doll isn't she?" I scoffed as I thought about the ditzy woman.

Brigid discussed skinning her, I considered drowning her.

If she was smart, she would run, far, far, far away from Rapture.

"You are flattering her Henry, that… woman, is a menace. Have you heard her siren call? It is atrocious." Brigid retorted, the most worked up I've seen her in, in a long while. The woman could work on the molecular level for hours on end, yet lost her patience just hearing a woman speak.

I laughed, I wasn't much better. I always had a temper.

"Couldn't you just invent a serum to make her mute?" I suggested, as I was sure she could.

 

"Don't give me ideas Henry." Brigid joked, her eyes lighting up with her smile. She passed it off as a joke, but I knew she meant it.

I always found Brigid funny, but I more found her incredible, and at times terrifying.

But mostly incredible.

 

The things I had seen her create were astounding.

She cured cancer in a week.

Granted, I could have cured cancer with a potion in my original reality, but this was 1947!

Most realities didn't cure cancer until the late 2000's, and some not at all!

**I couldn't wait to see what she made next.**

* * *

**Andrew insisted on being thorough.**

The Bathyspheres were not accessible openly from the surface, we had to sent them out, which meant we had to be very selective when dealing with possible citizens.

Thus, Sullivan would send up the admission applicants through the phemo tubes, and we would personally look them over. (Or Ms. McClintock would when my brother was feeling particularly… wrathful.)

Because of this, he and I were sat in his study in Hephaestus, going over the possible submissions to Rapture.

"Moragan, James?" I suggested to him, looking over the man's resume. Well enough sort by the looks of him. "Irish from his mother's side, clean cut. No crime record."

"Hmm… Clean record does not mean he doesn't deserve less than that. Put him under 'Maybe' Brother."

"Drake, Natalie? Daughter of a former sailor. Apparently she fancies herself an explorer. Has a lot of credits to her name." I suggested, looking over a mugshot and profile of the girl.  _Hmm… Very interesting._

"She's wanted by Interpol, but… she's apparently dead. She's died five times by the seems of it… Either she's immortal, or she's a criminal."

"Criminal doesn't always mean evil brother, but probably not, just to be safe. Who's next on the list?"

"Fontaine, Frank. Sailor, used to be a marine. Known for sailing across the world and establishing many friendships and businesses across the world. He comes recommended…"

"By who?" My brother asked, almost surprised. No one recommended anyone to them, almost no one knew them well enough.

"Mother Susan."

Our former foster mother, the woman that had taken us in from the orphanage. Raised us on American ideals, and treated us as her own. She gave my brother a heart.

We thought she died twenty something years ago.

"Accept him." Andrew commanded me, the only time he had ever truly raised his voice to me. I didn't judge him.

If that saintly woman sent that man our way, he had to be a good man.

We never considered the thought, that Mother Susan actually had died.

Frank Fontaine was much more than we had ever imagined.

**We signed the papers to our downfall.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an author's note.
> 
> In one of the first builds of Bioshock, before it even really was Bioshock, the creators showed an objective stating: "Find Tenenbaum's Cure for Cancer."
> 
> (You can see this in the Creator's Commentary of Bioshock 1.)
> 
> Why we would have needed to find it, I have no idea, but I take it to mean that (In at least one reality,) Brigid Tenenbaum created a cure for Cancer.
> 
> That is all.


End file.
